Laundromat

A block from your house there's a cramped parking lot with a Subway's, a Chinese-food-to-go, a Laundromat whose light spills out on the sidewalk at night, and a dollar store with a sign that lies,”'everything here under 99 cents.” On the curb right outside of the Laundromat, an old woman, you don't know how old's, slumped there on the corner like a crumpled bag of chips. Her hair is gray, spills out over her coat in odd directions. She is a pile of clothes. Stay back. Don't get too close. Ask her, would she like a sandwich? A cup of coffee? Watch her look up, shake her head “no thanks.” The quarters in your pocket are cold black stones in your stomach, ice.